Boxing Day was obviously dead quiet. After the long night that most of the school had endured during the ball, with many staying up well past midnight, most people were still in bed, including Clara's roommates. Even Clara'd had a long night, namely all that time she spent randomly dancing with Draco Malfoy in the corridor.
Clara woke up slowly, feeling that well-rested sensation in her limbs that she felt whenever she'd slept in fully. The other girls were fast asleep, and someone on the other end of the room was snoring away loudly too. Then she lazily propped her weight up on her elbows and turned her head to check the time on the clock on her bedside table.
She gasped. "Shoot."
Honestly, Clara had never leapt out of bed quite that quickly in her entire life. Even her cat yelped and tumbled backwards off her bed from the amount of force she used to climb to her feet and scramble around the room in a desperate attempt to get ready.
Malfoy had been expecting her at 9 o'clock to continue working on their project, but it was past 10 o'clock now. She just hoped he wouldn't be too angry at her for turning up so late.
With her clothes messily thrown on, her hair quickly brushed, and Lilia settled back on her bed, Clara picked up her book and a random quill and sprinted out of the room, closing the door behind her in a disorganised flurry.
Just as she reached the door, she heard Justin's voice behind her. "You're going out without shoes then?" he questioned. "If you get a splinter, don't come crying to me."
Clara instantly spun on her heel and placed her stuff down on a table by the door so that she could bolt back up the stairs, quietly grab a pair of shoes, and dash back down again. Now that she wasn't going to leave barefoot, she scooped up her book and quill once more and finally left the Hufflepuff basement, making her way up the stairs towards the library.
By the time she actually reached the library, she was completely out of breath. Stopping at the door to regulate her breathing, she straightened out her hair with one hand and started towards the table in the Alchemy Section of the library.
Of course, Malfoy was already there, and from the looks of things he'd gotten a lot done in the time she'd been asleep. His eyes were quickly glancing between books and parchments as he wrote on one long scroll in front of him.
He glanced up at her momentarily before looking back at his desk and sighing. "You should really invest in a clock, Davies."
Blushing slightly, Clara placed her things down beside his and pulled out her usual chair, settling down comfortably.
"Where were you by the way?" he asked. "I checked the Great Hall and all around the library but I couldn't see you."
Without looking up at him, she replied, "Sleeping."
"I suppose my incredible dancing abilities tired you out," he joked.
She'd almost forgotten about the previous night, but she wasn't entirely sure how. The entire memory in her head, though it felt vivid, it also felt surreal, like a dream maybe. It was as if time itself froze for that short amount of time he spent dancing with her.
He dipped his quill in his ink pot and continued copying out a few quotes from a book he was reading. "Still don't talk much, do you?"
She shook her head shyly.
"Why don't you?" he asked her.
She paused for a moment, debating her answer. "I don't like to talk-"
"Yeah, I know that," he interrupted amusedly, "but why? It's one thing to dislike talking, but to refuse to talk whatsoever? That's a bit weird if you ask me."
Not knowing what to say to his question, she shrugged.
"Come on," he pried, now interested. He placed his quill down and rotated his body in his chair to face her better. "There's got to be some reason, surely. Why don't you like to talk?"
Again, she shrugged. "I only talk around people I'm comfortable being around," she told him, hoping that would be enough of an answer to keep him satisfied.
When she glanced up at him for a moment, she noticed his expression change to something that seemed almost offended. "You're . . . not comfortable around me then?"
"I am," she answered, earning a barely audible sigh of relief. "I speak less around most."
"But why?" he pressed. "Surely there's a reason why you're so quiet all the time."
She hesitated. "There is," she said.
There was an awkward pause for a second or two. "And . . . do I get to hear that reason then?" he asked.
She sighed lightly. She really hadn't been expecting him to be quite that stubborn, although she probably should have.
"Fine," she relented. "I've never really spoken much," she explained quietly. "This is probably the most I've said in a conversation for months. This might come as a surprise to you, but I struggle making friends." Malfoy snorted at her sarcasm. "I always have. People generally just don't want to talk to me, or . . . I guess they just don't listen to me. So at some point, I just stopped talking altogether. Why bother if no one's going to listen?"
In her explanation, she almost began to explain her diary when she managed to catch herself out in time. There was no reason for anyone to know about that. Whenever anyone from her house asked about it, she always told them she was just doing homework. That's all they ever needed to know.
Malfoy went quiet for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. "Maybe I want to listen to you?"
Clara rolled her eyes, an action that even surprised herself. "You don't."
"No, I do," he insisted. "Look, how about this: you have normal conversations with me—and not just one-word answers, that doesn't count—and when your voice gets boring or I'm not listening, I'll tell you in advance," he suggested.
She shook her head to herself. "Is this it now? The Weasley twins keep trying to make me laugh or remotely smile, and now you're going to try to make me talk?"
"Well I'm having more success than they are," he sneered, "Weasleys," he scoffed. "Besides, I've seen you smile before."
She briefly gazed up at him in alarm before briskly opening her book and trying to make herself seem too busy for conversation. "No you haven't," she argued softly.
"Yes I did," he continued, finding an annoying amount of humour in her increasing embarrassment, "just last night in that corridor. Aw, did you smile just for me?" he teased.
Clara could feel the blood rushing to her face. Rather than allow the conversation to continue, she partially covered her face with her hair and began to write with her quill vigorously. Beside her, she heard Malfoy laugh tauntingly under his breath.
December 26th 1994
Dear diary,
I don't know if I love or hate being around Malfoy.
I know, that sounds random, but on the one hand he somehow has a way of making me feel just so comfortable around him, but on the other hand he makes me feel comfortable around him. I don't get comfortable around anyone in conversations, else I have a tendency to make unexpected sarcastic comments or ramble.
Today I actually told him the true deep reason as to why I don't say much. It's nothing too spectacular or anything, but no one really knows because no one wants to know. But, somehow, he was interested in my entire pointless and slightly rambled explanation. Even Justin, who I consider my closest friend, didn't listen that much.
But he's just so nice. Why? I have no idea. I've seen the way he speaks to the likes of Harry Potter, any of the Weasleys, and even Hermione. In second year, I heard from someone that he even called her a filthy little m—fill in the gaps. It feels wrong for me to even write it, forget about imagining someone saying it.
It just feels wrong coming out of Malfoy's mouth. It's like he's a whole different person when he's around me, and I don't know how I feel about it. Has he completely forgotten the water incident just a few months ago? Or the constant awkwardness before Snape made us work together? Or the way he'd talk behind my back when I was clearly in earshot?
It just makes me wonder, what changed?
And I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that I've been seeing slightly less of Astoria Greengrass recently. I know they were at the Yule Ball together but, apart from that, she seems to spend more time around her usual group of friends and less time clinging onto his arm for dear life. I wonder if the novelty of having all the attention from the popular boy in the year has worn off from her.
I also wonder if I'll ever get my original diary back.
With everyone in the castle for the remainder of the Christmas holidays, the Great Hall at meal times was busier than it usually was. At least Clara still had her perfect seat to herself at breakfast, her bowl of yoghurt she had every morning—peach flavour, since they ran out of strawberry—and her regular peace and quiet which she was beginning to see less of.
"Davies."
Fred sat down in the empty seat opposite her at the Hufflepuff table. He carried a bowl of mango slices with him, the juice messily rolling down his chin. Clara almost cringed when he wiped his face with his sleeve.
"Wanna hear another joke then?" he offered. "I have a few this time, and I think they might just do the trick."
Clara internally sighed. "Sure," she whispered.
"Why is Garrick Ollivander never home? Because he's a wanderer!" Fred made a slight giggling noise, but his expression dropped again when he saw her lack of a reaction. "Fine." He shoved another piece of mango into his mouth. "So, a muggle walks into the Three Broomsticks with a frog on its shoulder, right?"
"Okay . . .?" she trailed off, urging him to continue.
"And someone says, 'That's pretty cool, where did you get it?' and the frog says, 'London, they've got millions of them'!"
That did it for Fred. He burst into a fit of laughter, almost knocking his bowl over if he hadn't just caught himself on the bench he was sitting on. His pale, freckled face had gone bright red as he wiped a few tears from his eyes.
"That was terrible," she murmured in response.
With a sudden toddler-like frown, Fred snatched his breakfast back and stood up, stamping across to the other side of the room. "You're no fun, Davies."
She wondered how annoyed he would be if he knew that his reaction alone almost made her laugh.
For once, Clara was the first one to arrive in the library. Finding their usual spot, she placed her things down at the table and idly flicked through her copy of Magical Drafts and Potions while waiting for Malfoy to arrive. She wouldn't exactly be surprised if he turned up late just to wind her up, since she'd done so only two days earlier.
"Davies." Malfoy casually wandered over to their table and unceremoniously flopped down in the chair which was already untucked beside hers, placing a bottle of pearl-coloured liquid in front of her. "You're welcome."
Her eyes darted from him to the bottle, and then back to her lap. "What is it?" she asked quietly.
He rolled his eyes. "'What is it?'," he repeated to himself. "This," he tapped the cap of the bottle a few times, "is a weakened version of Amortentia. Snape gave us permission to use some but threatened to poison us if we misuse it. I decided we're willing to take that risk."
Inwardly sighing, Clara nodded and continued pointlessly annotating her book and drawing arrows between diagrams and extra pieces of information she'd added. Suddenly she saw movement in front of her eyes as Malfoy handed her the bottle, startling her slightly.
"Try sniffing it," he suggested as he opened another book that had been left on the table by someone else.
Curiosity getting the better of her, she held it under her nose, inhaling the light pink spiralling fumes. At first, it was difficult to get any scent from it, which she found just slightly concerning, but it was with a second whiff that she caught it.
There was an odd sort of familiarity to it, and the scent itself was difficult to pinpoint. It had maybe an apple-y tinge to it, combined with something else. Then it hit her.
She suddenly remembered where she'd caught that scent from. Only a few nights prior, in that corridor outside the Yule Ball, when she was standing that close to Malfoy . . .
She blinked to wake herself back up again and placed the bottle back down, sheepishly screwing the cap over the top.
"Out of curiosity . . ." Malfoy trailed off as he began to examine the liquid itself.
Clara froze up as she tried to come up with a sufficient answer that wouldn't totally embarrass herself. "Justin Finch-Fletchley," she lied. Merlin, she hated lying.
He nodded. "Astoria," unbeknownst to her, he also lied.
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
Author's note: The slow-burn ugh, it's killing me.
Honestly, this story won't be that long at all, in case you haven't noticed, since the whole thing will take place over the course of the Goblet of Fire, but once it's done I sort of have an idea for a sequel for my other story, Set My Soul Alight, which you should definitely read if you haven't heheh.
Anyway, thank you so much for reading, stay safe, and ily lots!